The Castle of Unclean Abominations
by Childe Valancourt
Summary: Will Van Helsing manage to save a young woman from a Satanic wedding rite before her virtue is threatened by an apostate monk and a resurrected sorcerer with five and twenty demons at his beck and call? Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**The Castle of Unclean Abominations**

**By Childe Valancourt**

_**A Romance of Astonishing Terror**_

_A__ note to the readers: This is the fanfiction equivalent to a pilot episode. If I am met with no reviews, I shall assume that no one has found it interesting enough to follow and thus shall not write a second chapter. Therefore, if anyone enjoys it all and would like to see more, then please review and accept my gratitude in advance!_

**Chapter One**

Van Helsing could hardly tell which was worse: too much superstition or too little of it. In London, he had grown used to the jaded cynics and materialists who pooh-poohed at any hint of the supernatural outside of the bounds of their prosaic complacency. In Romania, he found the victims of the ignorant peasantry who were all too ready to find the Devil hiding at every crossroad.

Anna Valerious, whom the unfortunate vampire hunter had somehow been unable to avoid during the last few weeks after the Dracula and Wolfman fiasco, cocked a critical eye at the knots that held the unconscious young woman bound to a tree.

"Flogging," she remarked with all the surety of a Scotland Yard man, glancing at the brutal bruises and cuts upon the woman's arms.

Van Helsing bent down to examine the knots but before he could lift a finger, Anna executed one of her expert karate chops – of which she possessed an inexhaustible supply – and hewed the rope in half. The young woman fell forward, still in a dead faint.

Anna turned and stalked away, considering the job effectively done. Van Helsing and Carl, however, tried to help the young woman into a sitting position and attempted to revive her. Anna snorted impatiently.

"It is clear what it was that happened to her!" she declared. "She was suspected of witchcraft, scourged, and left to die here. We have saved her – what more can we do?"

Just as Van Helsing was about to wearily reply, the sound of approaching horse hooves caused both him and Carl to turn their attention from the irate Anna to the two coal-black steeds that drew to a halt beside them. In the darkening shadows of evening, he could barely make out the features of the two men; but their dark robes and cowls indicated that they were priests.

"Merciful Heaven!" one of the men spoke, his voice low and genial though now tinged with surprised bewilderment as he crossed himself. "What has happened to this poor child? Is she yet another victim of those imbecilic peasants?"

"So it would seem." Van Helsing gazed at the two riders with narrowed eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to make out their faces. "And you good men are…?"

"Brother Ambrosio at your service, sir." The man gave as much of a bow as he could manage from his saddle. "And my companion Jasper Helwyze," he added, gesturing towards the other rider who acknowledged the introduction with a slight, courteous nod. "Is there anything that we may do to assist you? The young lady appears half-dead."

Van Helsing came to a decision. "We are horseless, sirs, and as you say, this woman is in need of a physician. Could you – "

"Certainly," Ambrosio replied, thoroughly understanding Van Helsing's intentions. The other rider named Helwyze dismounted and lifted the unconscious maiden upon his own horse before remounting behind her.

"God be with you!" Carl called out as the two riders spurred their horses to an efficient trot along the highway.

"And with you," came the reply, though in a voice different from that of Ambrosio's and full of a resonant irony that tainted the otherwise innocuous words. Van Helsing knew it to be the voice of the formerly silent rider.

"I suppose that we ought to seek out those imbecilic villagers so that we can find a place to stay for the night," Carl remarked.

"I expect that we've only a few more miles before we reach such a place," Van Helsing said, stifling a yawn. The encroaching fog and the howling of the distant wolves, rather than unnerving him, only served to make him all the more sleepy somehow – perhaps because they served as annoying reminders of the lateness of the hour.

As Carl, Anna, and Van Helsing continued in silence down the woodland highway, however, the sound of running feet caused them to turn and behold to their surprise the figure of a young man as he raced up to them, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

"Kind travellers, I beg to know – have you seen a young lady with long, golden hair, green eyes, and a fair complexion as you passed along this highway?"

"Yes," Van Helsing replied, eying the dishevelled fellow severely. "She was badly injured, however, and two priests happened upon us and were kind enough to bear her away to a physician."

At these words, the young man turned pale as death. Then, wringing his hands, he cried wildly, "Ah, then all is lost! All is lost! Know you not who those two riders were? Priests? Ha, yes – priests of the Inferno! One is Brother Ambrosio, an apostate monk, and the other – the other I only know the name of: Helwyze. Yet I know that these two men are most infamous sinners and that they have long had designs upon my beloved Antonia. And now – _now _– because of your allowance, they have her within their hellish grasps at last."

Van Helsing, who was growing a little weary of the young man's verbosity, exclaimed, "Get ahold of yourself, man! What business do these men have with your Antonia?"

The young man shuddered. "It is often the way of excessively depraved natures to seek after the unusually virtuous. Such is the case in this circumstance. The great beauty and virtue of Antonia bewitched many ordinary citizens like myself, to be sure, but it also attracted these two creatures as well. You would be horrified to know the manner in which they have mercilessly sought after her."

"I am sure that I would not," Van Helsing replied. "And it may keep me awake until we reach some stable where we can take up residence for the night."

"You mock my fears," the young man muttered. "Whilst all the while, the virtue of my Antonia is threatened by the most villainous pair to walk the Earth since Faust and Mephistopheles!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_**Author's note: Thank you, Aurora, for reviewing my tale and I hope that you and anyone else who bother's to note this tale of mine will enjoy this next episode! In answer to your question: this tale is meant to take place sort of in the middle of the **_**Van Helsing **_**film when Anna, Carl, and Helsing are still alive as well as Dracula and his brides. I fear that I am taking some liberties in having them upon this adventure in the first place, but such is the nature of fanfiction! **_

The gentle rhythm of the horse's trot beneath her gradually brought Antonia once again to full consciousness. Little but darkness met her wandering eyes and for a moment she was seized with a sudden panic and confusion; however, the sight of the crucifix glinting in the moonlight and hanging from the neck of the rider who rode nearby comforted her somewhat. However, she was still too bewildered to address the man who held her firmly with one sable-gloved hand whilst grasping his horse's reigns with the other.

As though sensing that she had awakened, the rider – who was, of course, Helwyze – presently drew his mount to a halt, signalling for Brother Ambrosio to do so as well.

"Let us make camp here within this forest," Helwyze suggested. "For we've still a day's march at least before we reach the place where we are bound."

Ambrosio climbed down from his horse and stood by to assist Antonia in dismounting. The girl slid from the horse into his arms, meeting his eyes with a timid, fearful glance.

"Who are you?" she asked faintly. "I do not know you."

"Why, yes you do," he said, putting a comforting hand to her face. "Do you not remember me, child? Ambrosio, your priest and confessor?"

Her eyes went alight with both joy and relief. "Thank Heaven," she murmured. "Then I am among friends at last." She glanced towards Helwyze who was tethering the horses. "But I do not recognise your companion."

"That is Jasper Helwyze, whom you may trust just as well as you trust me," Ambrosio replied. As he spoke, Antonia managed again to thank him for his kindness in rescuing her, but weariness again overpowered her and she stumbled, suddenly dizzied by the pain of her wounds. The monk caught her as she fell against his breast and as he held her close, he beheld more clearly than before the cruel marks of the lash that cut deeply into her arms and her back.

Helwyze, who had approached them by this time, grew grave as he glanced at the girl's injuries. "These must be bathed and bound at once," he murmured to Ambrosio. "I will kindle a fire and after we have dined, we will attend to them."

"Her life is not in danger, is it?" Ambrosio enquired anxiously.

Helwyze smiled. "Do you think that I would _allow _her to lose her life, Holy Father?"

Ambrosio returned the smile. "Truly I am fortunate to know such a man as you. To dinner, then."

A fire was soon made out of dry brambles and sticks and Antonia, refreshed by both its warmth and the sweetmeats and wine that constituted her dinner, soon regained much of her strength. All the while, Ambrosio hardly ate a morsel and Helwyze took no supper at all; their eyes instead lingered insatiately upon her as though that sight was feast enough. At length, once she had finished her dinner, Helwyze rose and spoke: "Now you must allow me to treat your wounds, my dear – for they are already badly infected and threaten to fester into something worse."

"Of course you may, sir," Antonia replied. She was for a moment bewildered when he did not reply, but when she saw his eyes lower towards her tattered dress, she realized what it was that she must do. Blushing, she turned an imploring glance first upon Ambrosio and then once again towards Helwyze.

"Do not be modest amongst us, my girl," Ambrosio at length said. "We are your friends and you have nothing to fear from us."

She hesitated but, meeting only kindly-eyed yet stern implacability from Helwyze, she at last undid her gown, letting it fall at her feet as the firelight played upon her fair, unveiled form. For a moment, the two men gazed upon her with a silent, intense admiration and, perhaps, a certain exultation. At last, as though overpowered by the strength of his own emotions, the monk averted his eyes and turned away towards the dark forest that lay beyond the fire as Helwyze approached her. With a cloth wetted with wine, he meticulously cleansed the deep gashes upon her body; however, he administered his attentions with a delicious delay, often pausing to press his lips to her hand with a ruthless sort of tenderness. Antonia stood silent, though a faint blush continued to color her cheek. She at length said, "Are you not finished, good sir?"

"For the present," he replied, again with that cold, gentle smile of his. As he spoke, his gaze moved unashamedly over her form with the speculative eye of a conqueror who looks upon a realm of pleasant fields and groves and longs to roam upon its lands freely so that he might have his fill of the pleasures that lie within it and make himself master of all that it possesses. Antonia's blush faded and her face turned very pale as she met his piercing gaze. He turned abruptly away from her, striving to compose himself, and when he met her fearful eyes once again, his gaze was robbed of all its furious desire and full of nothing more than a tender, brotherly solicitousness. Then, as though moved by a sudden, unexpected impulse of kindliness, he aided her in re-fastening her torn gown and offered her a fresh glass of wine to restore the color to her face.

"No, thank you, sir," she replied timidly. She was for the most part deceived by his new aspect of disinterested attentiveness and when Helwyze showed her to the bed of blankets that he had made for her close to the fire, she thanked him for it and was soon fast asleep in spite of the general discomfort of outdoor sleeping.

Ambrosio, who stood by the utmost edge of their camp, was lost in his own thoughts by the time that Helwyze approached him. The two men remained silent for several minutes; but when at last their glances met, the feverish agony upon the monk's visage and the gnawing, insatiate implacability upon that of his companion's indicated that their desires and feelings were mutual.

"We have evaded that suspicious young upstart Don Lorenzo thus far," Ambrosio remarked. "And by tomorrow, we shall reach the Chateau D'Enfer." It was queer to pronounce the flowing French in the wild woodlands of Romania, but there was much that was queer about the business that attended those two men.

"Yes, if we have managed to evade another of our enemies as well – or, I should say, my own enemy," Helwyze replied grimly.

The two men fell silent again, but their minds wandered in conjunction towards the unspoken thought that had been conjured by Helwyze's remark: Castle Dracula and its residents…

**In the next chapter: **_**In which Don Lorenzo recounts the full history of Brother Ambrosio and Jasper Helwyze to Van Helsing, who is only mildly interested; and in which the enmity that lies betwixt Count Dracula and Helwyze is more fully expounded upon. Also, in which the Inquisition becomes involved, to everyone's general disappointment and chagrin. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Author's note: **_**Apologies for the exposition in this chapter, but I fear that some explanations had to be given before this story could progress. Hopefully, they are riveting enough to hold my dear readership's attention. Again, thank you, Aurora, for your continued support of this tale and also to Bobby Rae for adding it to his story alerts list. To any and all readers: please don't forget to review the tale and do enjoy it!**_

"The greatest trouble," the young man (who introduced himself as Don Lorenzo) muttered as they continued down the highway. "Is that my Antonia has no knowledge of the true villainy of these men. She refuses to believe that Brother Ambrosio is anything more than a true and devoted priest of the Holy Faith. Indeed, even her mother was beguiled by his charming manners and that of his ever attendant companion, the exceedingly courteous yet utterly merciless Jasper Helwyze."

"And yet you, of course, knew the truth," Van Helsing returned with a skeptical smile.

"Yes!" Don Lorenzo declared, his eyes blazing. "I have seen the looks that Ambrosio has flashed upon her during certain unguarded moments when he thought there were none to behold him – and I have heard the subtle, corrupting words that Helwyze has murmured to her in lieu of scriptural advice. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – she is far too innocent to understand the insinuations of both these villains."

"It sounds like a hopeless case," Anna muttered irritably. "If she is too idiotic to comprehend her position and they are too incorrigible to give up their cause until they have ruined her honor, then I would say that the success of their enterprise would probably be the best possible thing for everyone concerned."

All three men protested volubly against this opinion.

"We shall do all in your power to help you recover your lover, Don Lorenzo," Carl declared as Anna rolled her eyes. "Won't we, Van Helsing?"

Van Helsing, who hithertofore had been rather indifferent to the whole affair but was now somewhat horrified by the images conjured forth by Anna's last disparaging remark, agreed wholeheartedly.

At that moment, Carl caught sight of a lonely, dilapidated shack close by and the four travelers decided that it would be best to stop there for the night, in spite of Don Lorenzo's protests that they must continue to pursue Ambrosio and Helwyze.

"If these men are truly as villainous as you say," Van Helsing reasoned. "Then they will have had sense to make camp in a place far removed from this highway. It is impossible, at any rate, that we shall find them in the dark."

With a heart-wrung sigh, Don Lorenzo agreed and they all huddled inside the shack, attempting to make themselves as comfortable as they could upon the straw.

"There is one thing that confuses me about your tale," Carl said presently to Don Lorenzo. "If both of these men seek after your lover, why are they not rivals rather than accomplices?"

"I long wondered that myself," Don Lorenzo replied. "Until I discovered their histories and the peculiar relationship that binds them inextricably together. Have you, signors, perhaps heard of sorcerers and their familiars – that is, attendant daemons?"

Van Helsing felt a chill creep along his spine, but listened intently as Carl nodded. Don Lorenzo continued, "It has been rumored amongst certain folk that Ambrosio is a secret practitioner of the black arts and that he once possessed such a familiar who took on the form of a woman and called itself Matilda – but that this daemon betrayed him in some manner. Ever after, Ambrosio vowed that he would never ally himself with a daemon in such a manner again, but choose human treachery instead as a safer choice. It is said that he then summoned forth from Hell the spirit of a long-dead sorcerer and, using certain powerful necromantic spells, commanded this spirit to attend him and to serve him in all things – in other words, to fill the usual role of a familiar. This entire tale sounded to me rather outlandish, I admit, but I happened one day to come across an ancient book containing the engraving of a notorious, ill-reputed sorcerer who was said to have died centuries ago. Well, I swear to you, signors, the face of that sorcerer perfectly matched the face of Jasper Helwyze."

"And that is why their victories and defeats must be shared alike," Van Helsing mused thoughtfully.

"Precisely, signor," Don Lorenzo nodded. "I suppose that apart from their mutual respect and genuine friendship for each other, they are both terribly afraid of one another. Brother Ambrosio realizes that the man who he has made his familiar is far more adept at the black arts than he is and thus could do him immeasurable harm – and Helwyze knows that with but a simple spell, Ambrosio could send him back to the Hell that he rescued him from, albeit temporarily."

"And these are the men whom you have made enemies of," Van Helsing said, shaking his head.

"Signor, my courage matches in full the enormity of their cunning villainy," Don Lorenzo assured him.

"However, I fear that courage is not much of a match for craft," Van Helsing remarked.

"And you – I neglected to ask who you are," Don Lorenzo said.

"I am Van Helsing."

With the usual excitability of a certain type of Spaniard, Don Lorenzo sprang up instantly, his eyes shining. "It cannot be! The famous vampire slayer? Ah, surely God is seeking to aid me in my quest."

"I have never run up against sorcerers," Van Helsing reminded him. "And it sounds from what you've told me as though they're a much more complicated and bothersome lot than vampires and werewolves. Even Dracula would sound like a welcome respite from all the deviltry and intrigue that you've recounted to me."

"Dracula?" the Spaniard furrowed his brow. "It is strange that you should mention him."

"Why?" Carl asked nervously.

"If my memory serves me well, when Jasper Helwyze was still alive centuries ago – before he died and was resurrected by this Ambrosio as I told you – he went by another name and dwelt in an estate quite close to this area. Do you know of the three brides of the Count?"

"I should say so," Carl replied with a nervous look.

"Well, the one with flaming hair who went by the name of Aleera was the daughter of a nobleman and fell desperately in love with Helwyze. Unfortunately, she died and became one of Dracula's lemans, effectively terminating any hope of an amorous affair. Perhaps it was just as well, for I do not know whether her passion was returned by the sorcerer at all. It is said, however, that even now in her vampiric state, she still desires him with the same undying lust and still seeks him in spite of her alleged loyalty to the Count. Of course, this does not make Dracula any too fond of Helwyze."

By this time, Van Helsing's head was spinning. "Then Dracula is an enemy of Helwyze?"

"_Si_, signor," Don Lorenzo nodded. "Though for my money, I would rather find myself at the mercy of the Count than Monseigneur Helwyze. I am sure that if we were to ever learn what this Helwyze's true name was before his death, we would discover that he was a man as closely in league with the forces of Hell as any mortal can possibly be."

Anna, who had grown bored long ago with this lengthy discourse and had stepped outside of the shack for a breath of fresh air, suddenly returned bearing both a derisive smile and a sheet of parchment. "While you three ninnies have been sitting there gossiping, look at what I found nailed to a tree."

The men gazed upon the paper that she handed them. In the faint moonlight, they could barely distinguish the words written thereupon:

"WANTED: Two outlaw sorcerers, both attired in the garb of clerics. One is an apostate monk by the name of Brother Ambrosio: dark haired, stern-eyed, and of a mellifluously persuasive manner, believed to be in his mid to late twenties. The other goes by the name of Jasper Helwyze – though this appellation is believed to be a pseudonym: also dark haired and of the same age as his accomplice, with an aloof bearing, refined manners, and cold, piercing eyes that flash a Satanic malignance and Luciferian pride. Be on your guard, for these men are artful and full of the Devil's craft, often appearing to be as pleasing as they are wicked. Slay on sight, though if it is possible, their imprisonment would be preferred so that they might be suitably interrogated. This warning and proclamation is issued by Bernardo Gui, Chief Inquisitor, by order of the Holy Inquisition."

After they had finished perusing the document, the three men glanced up doubtfully at each other.

"That was, without a doubt, the weirdest wanted poster I've ever read in my life," Carl remarked. "I still have no idea what those men actually look like."

"So the Inquisition is involved in this affair!" Van Helsing mused. "This either means that our search for Antonia will be enormously efficient or that it will prove to be a hundred times more troublesome than it would have been otherwise."

Don Lorenzo appeared the most shaken of all. "If they are captured by the Inquisition, I shudder to think what would be done to them. There must be more than lust involved in their pursuit of my Antonia – else they would not risk the stake and the rack for her. Truly, they must – in some perverse manner – actually love her!"

"Well, the involvement of the Inquisition doesn't matter one way or the other to _us_, because we are in the employ of the Vatican, eh, Van Helsing?" Carl chuckled uneasily, glancing at his friend. To his dismay, Van Helsing did not reply, merely gazing off into the distance with a contemplative air.

"Outlaws in the Romanian wilderness – with Count Dracula on one side and the Inquisition on the other, both baying at their heels," Carl continued. "Poor devils – you can't help but almost pity them!"

"It is these impossible odds that make me dread them all the more," Van Helsing returned grimly. "These men are not fools – they have weighed their chances of success and have somehow estimated that they shall still succeed in their endeavors in _spite _of all the dangers. We have thus pitted ourselves against two men who are either exceedingly powerful or exceedingly desperate. If, as I fear, they are both, then we are the ones who should be pitied, not they – for there is no force quite so dangerous in this world as a desperation."

**In the next chapter: **_**In which Helwyze manages to fulfill the role of salacious lover and reluctant suitor all in the same evening; in which Van Helsing and company arrive in the village of Azederac and are shanghaied by the Inquisition; and in which Antonia is still blissfully ignorant.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Whilst our heroes were engaged in their whispered conference at this ungodly hour, most of the villainous subjects of their conversation were sensible enough to already be fast asleep. Only one of them, the cloaked figure of Jasper Helwyze, remained sleepless and wary at that late hour; and as he stirred the dead, smoking ashes of the fire, he glanced upon the slumbering forms of both his master and the young object of his terrible affections and spoke in a voice soft and audible only to himself:

"Lovely Antonia, yours is the sleep of innocence distilled, tranquil and untroubled by cares and anxious memories. And my master Ambrosio, though your sleep is that of a guilty man, it is still far more than I shall ever enjoy. Would that I might enjoy even the sleep of the conscience-tormented – but even _that _respite is denied me. Hell's ceaseless tortures taught me long ago that there is no calendar other than the endless repetition of desire and death; and that there is no day but Doomsday itself, when the final dissolution shall at last come about to consume both Satan and his allies – of which I am one. Now I may never sleep again, neither in this world nor the next." His face grew pale as a winding sheet as he murmured these last words and a look of despairing horror and weariness entered those implacable eyes for a moment. Just as suddenly as it surfaced, however, it disappeared to be replaced by all his former contemptuous mercilessness and malignance. With a brooding, melancholic countenance, he gazed upwards towards the cold, glittering stars as though seeking to both supplicate and renounce the heavens from which they so impassively shone.

The sound of a sigh caused him to glance up swiftly, roused momentarily from his poisonous contemplations. He perceived that Antonia was stirring in her sleep as though troubled by some dream and he rose from his place by the dead fire and knelt beside her, watching until her restlessness subsided somewhat and lapsed once more into peaceful drowsing.

For a few minutes, he remained by her side as though transfixed by both jealousy and sorrow at the sight of her tranquil sleep – a luxury that was forever to be denied to him. Yet Helwyze had lost nothing of his sorcerous knowledge and it struck him that even now in the midst of his lonely agony, he might gain some sort of amusement at the expense of this innocent creature before him. Leaning close to her ear, he spoke in a low, gentle voice, reciting the ancient runes that enable one to harness the threads of a sleeper's dreams and weave them into any pattern one may desire. Then, after he had invoked the necessary spells, he continued to whisper into the sleeping girl's ear the visions that he desired her to behold:

"Dear heart, behold about you all the splendors of the New Jerusalem: the seraphs, the winged angels – yes, even the Fount of Life. You behold all of the blessed souls who wander beneath those jeweled arches and upon those golden streets. Are you one of that happy throng, Antonia?"

In the soft voice of one who speaks in one's sleep, she replied, "Oh, I hope so!"

"Of course you are, my dear," he said. "For yours is a pure and contrite heart. Ah, but look! All is not happiness here. Do you not see the deep chasm that separates this beautiful Heaven from a plain of sulphur and bitumen? Do you not hear the cries of the damned as they roil in flaming gulfs, lost to all hope of salvation or even death? Does not the fanning heat of Hell reach even that celestial city and brush against your face like the wind of an immense furnace?"

Breathlessly, she whispered, "Yes – and I know some of those poor, wretched faces. Oh, no, it cannot be!" Her voice broke and was full of a sorrowful horror, "Dear Ambrosio – kind Helwyze! Why do the two of you suffer within these flames alongside all of these sinners?" Helwyze, who had turned very pale at the mention of his name, listened intently as she continued, "But I am so close to the chasm betwixt Heaven and Hell. Can it be that I could but stretch out my hand and save them and then lead them with me to Paradise? Perhaps I shall fall within that terrible gulf – but it is worth the risk, for I cannot be in Heaven whilst those who are my friends must suffer."

So passionate were her feelings even while she remained fast asleep that her hand actually went out as though to clasp the suffering hand of some sinner and happened to fasten upon Helwyze's wrist. Though it was but the light grasp of a sleeping girl's hand, he was held frozen by her touch as though rendered helpless by some sorcery even more potent than his own.

The sound of footsteps behind him caused him to rise with a start. He beheld a figure standing close by within the shadows and heard a voice say, "Come away with me that I may speak for a moment with you."

The voice was familiar to him and with a vague shudder of remembrance, he followed it into a secluded grove apart from the two sleeping figures of Antonia and Ambrosio.

Once alone, the strange figure threw back the hood of its cloak to reveal the beautiful face of a woman, with long, red hair spilling down to her waist and deep blue eyes intently fixed upon the pallid sorcerer.

"Helwyze…my Helwyze," she murmured. "I have oft dreamt of this moment when I would have you once more before me. When you died so many centuries ago, I believed that chance to be lost – yet now here you are."

"Indeed Providence works in mysterious ways," Helwyze replied with a faint smile.

She tilted her head playfully at him. "You seem little pleased with Providence, my dear sorcerer."

"I would say that it is He who is little pleased with _me_, my dear vampiress."

"And do you crave His good pleasure? It seems to me that your heart is such that it could not help but mock the mercy that it would seek to supplicate."

"And it seems to me a little late for supplications – for both of us," he returned. "What business have you here, Aleera? Are you so wearied of your Count that you seek even my poor company as an anodyne?"

"Do not mock me with feigned ignorance," she laughed. "You know very well that it is only you that I shall ever desire."

"And yet I have never sought after your love nor encouraged it."

"You have been very careful not to. However, the more you demur, the more you whet my appetite."

"I am sorry for that," Helwyze replied. "For I hope never to gratify it."

Her eyes flashed with a hideous fury at these words. "Do you truly believe that you may escape me?" She took a step nearer to him and as she did, he raised his hand to make the sign of the cross. However, as his finger traced the shape within the air before him, the choking scent of sulphur seemed to rise up all around him and the fiery shape of a cross appeared in the air before vanishing.

"Blasphemer!" Aleera laughed. "Did you truly believe that the cross would save _you? _You, who have renounced Heaven, cannot still hope to benefit from its protection! Rather, give yourself wholly unto me and become as I have become."

She exulted in the look of helplessness that she had startled out of her victim with these cruel words and as she grasped him and drew him to her, he barely resisted her as though certain already of his defeat. She pressed her mouth against his white lips with a fury that seemed to draw the breath out of her victim and all the while her fingers caressed his hair and throat. At last, she relaxed her grasp slightly and regarded his face with an expression of gloating expectancy. "Well, shall you not fight me and make your escape? Or are you indeed mine now?" She knew very well that it was not in the sorcerer's nature to strike a woman; also, she was well aware of the hypnotic power attendant about her and its effect upon her victims. It was difficult enough for a Christian to resist such a creature; for an apostate such as Helwyze, the struggle was far greater.

With a faint look of despair but as though compelled by an insurmountable summons, he bent closer and brought his lips upon her throat. But his kisses were cold and forced, seeming to linger with hatred rather than love upon the object of their ministrations. Nonetheless, Aleera held him closely, a faintly sardonic smile upon her lips as he at last ceased and met her gaze.

"Even this unwilling tribute from you, O sorcerer, is more to me than the impassioned embraces of any other," she murmured. "And you know as well as I that I have means of causing even your indefatigable coldness to melt."

He gazed upon her radiant, flawless beauty with a strange mixture of helpless hatred and enslaved bewilderment. He knew, then, that he was utterly powerless to resist her enchantments, false though he knew them to be and that he would not only succumb to them but, in so doing, give up his soul to her as well. It was the loss of his soul and will that caused him to blanch more than the humbling shame that accompanied it. If he had to be damned, he would much rather do the damning himself than become the victim of bewitchment.

"What, Helwyze, you are not afraid are you?" she demanded with a mocking smile.

At last he spoke and as he did, he knelt at her bare feet as though in a last plea for mercy: "I see that I am helpless before you, for I have neither Christ nor Satan to succor me against your enchantments. Yet I beg that though you satisfy yourself in all other things, that you do not thirst after my blood nor cause me to become as you are."

She gazed down upon him, her eyes shining. "And so – proud Helwyze, who refuses even to kneel before his Maker, humbles himself at my feet and implores me for mercy." She took his hand and raised him up so that he stood before her once more. "But why should I not follow God's holy example and reject your unrepentant impiety? Cursed one, kiss me." With a look of silent despair, he did so. "And now I shall do the same for you."

Her long fingers twined within his hair and drew his head irresistibly back so that his throat lay pale and vulnerable before her. He flinched at first beneath her lips, but she did not immediately sate her thirst, choosing instead to kiss the unmarked perfection of his untouched throat as though reveling in its exquisite, yielding softness. Her other hand held his wrists as tightly together as though they were bound by manacles, effectively repressing his struggles. At last, she ceased her toying delay and her teeth entered deeply into his flesh. A soft sigh escaped his lips and a hideous shudder moved through his frame as she drank deeply of the crimson that leapt from his veins. He renewed his attempts to escape, but her grasp only tightened about him whilst all the while her fingers moved wildly within his hair. At length, he ceased even this resistance and, thoroughly overcome, gave himself up to her languorous caresses and avid lips.

Suddenly, as though physically thrust back by a force even greater than her own, Aleera staggered away from him, her face white with fury and her lips dabbled with blood. Her eyes were not turned upon him but upon something behind him and as the vampiress disappeared into the midnight air, he turned to behold what it was that had frightened her away. In the uncertain moonlight, all he could make out was the figure of something clothed in flowing white with a crucifix hanging from a chain about its throat. But in the extremity of his exhaustion and bewilderment, he fancied that he saw before him nothing less than an angel of God – and this thought threw his mind into an even greater maelstrom of consternation and terror. Sinking to his knees before the figure, he murmured in a voice that, though full of dread, still held within it all of his eternal, despairing defiance: "Spirit, you must not send me back so soon –so soon. You know as well as I that I shall have all of eternity to dwell within the Outer Darkness – and I dare hope that I shall not be deprived of my momentary respite from Hell's pangs by you or any other emissary of Heaven save Christ Himself until Judgement Day – and even then would I resist Him with all the forces of the Inferno that lie at my disposal – would cause seraph to battle fallen angel for my wretched soul before I would allow it to be cast once more and forever into the Pit. Hearken to me, then, have pity and begone!"

As he finished uttering these terrible, impenitent words, the sorcerer was suddenly overwhelmed by a hideous sensation of faintness as though the loss of blood that he had sustained was at last affecting him. Yet the terror of being borne to Hell whilst unconscious harrowed him so deeply that even as he felt the darkness of a swoon close in upon him, his lips parted and he struggled to breathe the words that would summon forth Belial or some similar daemon who might come to his defense. Before the spell could be uttered, however, he felt a cool hand upon his brow and a soft, frightened voice whispered his name as though to recall him once again to the world of the living and the blessed. He seized the hand in a grasp that caused its owner to gasp and gazed with half-unbelieving eyes upon the tender, concerned visage of Antonia.

"Helwyze, dear friend – what is it that has frightened you?" she asked.


End file.
